We'll look it over; there might be food left behind, even if the people
have gone."
We must have been half an hour in covering the distance. There were a
number of shallow gullies to cross, and a long, gently sloping hill to
climb. The cabin stood well up above the stream, within the shade of
the great oak, and we were confirmed, long before we reached it, of our
former judgment that it was uninhabited. The door stood ajar, and the
wooden shutter of the single window hung dejectedly by one hinge. No
sign of life was visible about the place; it had the appearance of
desertion, no smoke even curling from out the chimney. A faint trail,
evidently little used, led down toward the creek, and we followed this
as it wound around the base of the big tree. Then it was that the
truth dawned suddenly upon us--there to our right lay a dead mule,
harnessed for work, but with throat cut; while directly in front of the
cabin door was a dog, an ugly, massive brute, his mouth open, prone on
his back, with stiffened legs pointing to the sky. I dropped my rein,
and strode forward.
"Wait where you are," I called back. "There have been savages here;
let me see first what has happened inside."
The dog had been shot, stricken by two bullets, and I was obliged to
drag his huge body to one side before I could press my way in through
the door. The open doorway and window afforded ample light, and a
single glance was sufficient to reveal most of the story.
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